On the Roof
by FLP
Summary: A very short little scene between Carter and Abby taking place right after "Sailing Away".


Pre-fic Ramblings: I haven't written anything in a really, really, really long time. (Not that anyone missed me of course... :-) So anyway, this is my weak attempt at breaking writer's block, I'd really appreciate it if you left a review, either to a) tell me to keep writing, or b) tell me to pack up and go before I destroy all that is good and right in the world. It's your choice, not mine. Have fun, kids. :-)   
  
Oh, and I know that it's grotesquely short... but I wanted to get something up before I'm being forced outta town for a week (and away from my computer :-( )  
  
Spoilers: If you've not seen "Sailing Away" and want nothing to do with it 'til you have, then don't read this. You have been warned... (though now that I think about it, there's not really *that many* spoilers in here)  
  
Disclaimer: That's right, they'll all mine. Every last one of them. I also single-handedly invented the Internet and Post-It notes. I'm a genius. Bow down to me. Send money, flowers, candy, and a really good lawyer to combat all the lawsuits the previous statements could possibly land me. As soon as you can, if you wouldn't mind. ;)   
  
Just kidding, Mr. Crichton. They're yours, I know. Don't look at me like that...  
  
  
~~~*~~~*~~~   
He can almost feel the cold through the thick metal door, and in the back of his mind he wonders if this isn't some sort of dark, ominous foreboding that's trying to warn him away from what he's about to do, that maybe the demons he could be about to face are a little too big and a little too strong and a little too scary, and that maybe he'd be better off leaving someone else to deal with them. And the front of his mind suspects that that type of thinking's partly what brought them there.  
  
He balances the two cups of coffee in one hand, the other easing open the heavy portal that promises to add tension and insomnia to an already burdened soul, and this time he finds himself wondering if his is the only soul in question. The blast of dry, icy air hits him harder than he'd been expecting, but the numbness that had settled in hours ago helps to surpress the shivering.   
  
And, looking up, he sees her instantly.   
  
Her back is to him; she's leaning heavily against the brick ledge that serves as the boundary to the roof. He begins to question whether or not she's intentionally pushing the limits of gravity, or reality, or sanity, or whatever mysterious force it was that held them there, but stops, figuring he'd be pushing it too. Just to test the limits.   
  
She hasn't moved and he doubts that she's even aware the door has opened and she's not all alone anymore. She watches the dark, silent skyline of Chicago, its beauty gently drawing in wanderers to get lost in its silky depth, and, as comforting as it is, he gets the feeling she's not really seeing it anymore. And then he draws in a breath and soundlessly approaches her.  
  
"Abby?"   
  
She turns to face him, deep brown eyes telling him things she's afraid to say and he's afraid to hear, but still she does not move. Stray strands of light from police cars down below and buildings stretching up above play across her face, and suddenly she looks so small standing there, so alone and scared and shivering. He extends his arm slowly, coffee cup in tow, offering her a tiny piece of what little he can give her.   
  
"Coffee?" and she shakes her head and drops her eyes back toward the ground.   
  
He raises an eyebrow and gently catches her gaze, managing a weak half-smile, and offers the cup to her again. She eyes it warily for a moment before slowly reaching out in acceptance. Turning again, she closes her eyes and takes a sip, tilting her head back and letting the liquid roll down her throat, in an attempt to ease her frazzled nerves and bloodshot stare with its warmth and caffeine. Moments pass before she turns back to him with a tiny smile of her own.   
  
"Thanks, Carter."   
  
He nods his acknowledgment and moves to join her against the ledge.   
  
They stand there together, gloved hands nearly touching upon the cold concrete, and relish in the silence, knowing all too well that this would be the calm before the storm. Their profiles rest softly illuminated under the glow of the nighttime stars, each stealing easy glances at one another, breaking the stillness of the night only for the occasional quaff of coffee.   
  
Abby is the one to end it all, this unfamiliar sense of peace, and with an almost apologetic sigh, she pops the question.   
  
"Carter? Is she okay?"   
  
And, taking a sudden interest in his shoes, he is so reluctant to answer.   
  



End file.
